


There's a Golden Sky

by tresshots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Derek Hale Needs a Hug, Haunted Houses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Stiles, Vulnerable Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9803933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresshots/pseuds/tresshots
Summary: “Stiles,” Lydia calls. “You’re team Derek.”“I’m not team Derek,” Stiles splutters.“Oh, please. If there was a Derek Hale fan club you’d be the president,” Erica says.Or: where there's a haunted house filled with zombies, a mysterious sparkly lilac liquid, and bad things are always Erica’s fault.





	

**Author's Note:**

> After getting feedback I figured it's best to issue a warning: in the story Jackson's actions trigger Derek's PTSD, which results in an extreme state of distress and fear for him. Naturally, hurt/comfort ensues.

So maybe Stiles shoulders _some_ of the blame, but it’s a fact as well-known as any: the sky is blue, grass is green, and oh yeah, bad things are always most definitely Erica’s fault.

It all starts when she finally, officially, graduates with a degree in brewing and distilling and decides to throw a celebration party at her and Boyd’s. The house is crowded, everybody having a wonderful time, but Erica gathers the pack up to the guestroom and hands all the werewolves tall glasses which contain a mysterious, sparkly lilac liquid.

At first the wolves refuse to drink because you never know with Erica, there might as well be laxatives or Viagra fixed in, but she scoffs, looking hurt to the bones. “Like I’d poison Boyd.” She gazes admiringly at her husband of two months. “Babe?”

“Well, you can never be too careful,” Boyd answers. He is the first to brave a sip, and the look spreading on his face is one of pure bliss. His eyes flash; not their usual gold color, but a lavender one.

“My very own brew of wolfsbane. Good stuff, right?” Erica giggles and the wolves have no qualms then, downing their glasses enthusiastically.

Soon enough Erica and Boyd leave the room for their host duties, but the rest of them stay back. Stiles sticks to the corner with Allison and Lydia, all enjoying their own drinks, as the wolves start flipping the fuck out one by one. Only when shit gets real aka Scott kisses Isaac after dreamily telling him, “I can see the stars in your brain, like spiders,” Allison smiles apologetically at her human companions.

“Oops, I guess it’s better to get them home.”

“Both of them?” Lydia asks. Allison only grins and gathers her boys up from the floor.

Stiles is in the middle of ranting to Lydia about how it’s unfair there’s threesomes going on this very minute when he hasn’t bedded anyone in seven freaking months, when Jackson comes over to them. He kisses Lydia with lots and lots of tongue, and Stiles feels bitter for just a second before Jackson drags _him_ into a deep kiss.

“I think a threesome could probably be arranged,” Lydia says in an uncharacteristically strained voice. Stiles pushes Jackson away, wipes at his mouth and refuses friendly but very firmly. Lydia and Jackson leave soon after, and as they go his hand sneaks under Lydia’s skirt and she’s doing nothing to stop it. That leaves Stiles alone in the room with Derek, who has been sitting alone in the opposite corner the whole time.

The only movement or noise he’s made during the past hour and a half was when he removed his leather jacket and socks at one point. He’s been left in a deep purple V-neck and jeans, looking unbelievably, unfairly adorable.

Stiles sighs and goes dutifully over to his Alpha. “You okay, buddy?” he asks, wobbly on his own legs. The wolfsbane-infused liquor may be heaven’s manna to the wolves, but Stiles isn’t too shoddy with his own, regular human alcohol.

“Stiles,” Derek says slowly. The lazy smile on his face is absolutely breathtaking. “Sti _les_. S _ti_ les. Your name tastes funny.”

“Oh wow,” Stiles says, feeling inexplicably a little hot under the collar. “Up we go, I’ll call us an Uber.”

Derek hugs Stiles’ leg like a giant octopus. “Don’t wanna go,” he mumbles. “Wanna stay with you forever. You smell so good, why do you smell so good?”

He starts mouthing at Stiles’ thigh through his jeans, and that’s all it takes; the next thing Stiles knows is they’re kissing, and then he’s lying on the floor under Derek, who’s pushing inside him with surprisingly focused thrusts. “Derek, Derek, my Derek,” Stiles whispers. “I want you to come inside me,” he confesses, and they’re both coming, coming, _falling_.

 

He wakes up to the first morning rays with a cotton ball mouth and is immediately greeted by the sight of a well-fucked Derek, whose eyes dart nervously around the room.

“We…” Derek clears his throat, but doesn’t follow up with anything.

Their clothes form an abandoned pile on the floor, and that’s funny, Stiles can’t even remember when they moved on the bed. He sits up slightly and winces. There’s dried come in his pubic hair and ass; lovely. “It would seem so,” Stiles drawls, turning his gaze to Derek who looks like he’s about to throw up.

“It was…” Derek Hale, chiseled and lost for words. Typical.

Stiles knows what’s happening here. “A relapse of judgment,” he says, waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it.” His words are spoken with a calmness he doesn’t feel.

“Right,” Derek says. His relief is palpable and only a little hurtful. “Right. Of course. Just a mistake.”

They get dressed in complete silence and sneak out of the house. There’s passed out people and empty bottles everywhere. “Wanna share a ride?” Stiles asks once they reach the porch.

“I’ll walk,” Derek says. He hasn’t been able to meet Stiles’ eyes the whole time.

“Alright, man,” Stiles says as casually as he knows. “I’ll see you around.”

Derek turns around and, like the psycho he is, starts for the woods even though it’s probably like two hours to his place. Stiles orders an Uber for himself and goes straight to the bed when he gets home, willing to forget everything about Derek: his smile, his kiss, his cock; the way they had fit together so perfectly.

He wakes up five hours later to his doorbell ringing. It’s Scott, who’s carrying two pizzas and a six-pack. Stiles swallows down his bitter disappointment.

They settle down on the couch when Scott sniffs at Stiles. “You smell so…” his eyes widen. “You and Derek? _Finally_?”

“It’s none of your business.”

Scott looks like a kicked puppy. “Dude, I’m just happy for you.”

Stiles picks at the pieces of pineapple in his pizza. Scott never fucking remembers. “It was a mistake neither of us would ever be willing to repeat.”

“Bro,” Scott says so fucking gently. “Your heart.”

“Shut up and hand me a beer,” Stiles commands, adopting his no-nonsense voice. He starts scarfing down his pizza and ignores Scott’s worried look, leading the discussion to less heartbreak-indulging direction, like sports and Scott’s newfound polyamorous relationship.

 

He ignores everybody for a week and a half, because just like Scott, the pack keeps congratulating him for bedding Derek. When the first text arrived – “ _I’m genuinely so happy for you (:_ ”, courtesy of Lydia – Stiles called Scott all pissed off, how _could_ he spread the rumor around? – but Scott revealed it was all Erica’s doing: “You know, she said they had to buy a new mattress because your combined stink was, like, so bad.”

But eventually he has to brave himself to face the music. Lydia, who works as an assistant for the mayor of Beacon Hills, has been put in charge of organizing a charity event. There’s going to be a huge carnival with lots of entertainment spots, so Lydia has ordered the whole pack to come help her the night before the carnival actually kicks off, to act as test drivers for the most important attractions. Lydia likes nothing more than being prepared, except maybe Louboutin shoes.

The area is already impressive as hell when Stiles leaves his car to the parking lot and strolls through it. There are entertainment booths, amusement rides, food trucks and drink stands all around him. He meets the pack under the Ferris wheel where Lydia had instructed them to come. They greet him like everything’s cool and fine, except for Derek, who doesn’t even grant him with a hello.

It takes a few agonizing minutes until Lydia arrives, ponytail swinging from side to side, carrying a thick binder under her delicate arm. She accepts a kiss from Jackson and words of high praise from the rest of them. “Thank you,” she says, beaming. “We’re on a schedule though, so it’s best we get to work.”

“Alright,” Stiles says, rubbing his hands together. “I totally volunteer to test out the food trucks.” God, he can practically hear the menus calling out his name.

Lydia clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “Attractions first, then food.”

“Who cares about the attractions,” Stiles mutters. He’s in a foul mood; it for _sure_ doesn’t have anything to do with the gloomy hulk of Derek, who’s been silent the whole time Stiles has been present.

“Well, we could always make things a little more interesting, couldn’t we?” Jackson notes.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s make a bet. The last to finish testing their attraction pays for everybody’s dinner.”

Stiles winces. His wallet wouldn’t really like that; the pack is an abhorrent miracle when it comes to destroying food. The idea gets an excited reception though, so Stiles adds in his own begrudging acceptance. “Fine by me,” Lydia seals the decision. “So, first step; pair up.”

Stiles shuffles next to Scott. He finds nothing wrong with the action until he realizes everybody’s staring at him. Scott smiles ruefully as he takes Allison’s hand. Stiles looks around and finds the rest of them are already paired: Erica and Boyd, Scott and Allison, naturally; Isaac and Jackson are standing next to each other, Lydia is tapping her shoe impatiently against the ground, which leaves…

“You fucking traitor,” Stiles hisses furiously at Scott, not even caring everybody can hear him.

“Stiles,” Lydia calls. “You’re team Derek.”

“I’m _not_ team Derek,” Stiles splutters.

“Oh, please. If there was a Derek Hale fan club you’d be the president,” Erica says.

Stiles flips her the bird as he slouches over to Derek. He keeps a two meters distance between them, all too aware of the discomfort the poor Alpha is radiating.

Lydia starts her presentation about the attractions, but Stiles can’t concentrate on anything else but coming up with a way to get out of the situation. Maybe they could go on their separate ways once the brief is over? Stiles isn’t willing to put Derek through the torture of his company any longer than necessary.

Lydia’s phone rings abruptly. “Lydia. Yes. Right now? But they weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow!” she screeches. “Whatever, I’m on my way. Keep them there.” She ends the call and hands out a couple of papers from her binder to Jackson.

“You’ll figure out who goes where, right? Call me when everybody’s done,” she says and without bothering to say goodbye, turns on her heels and starts power-walking away.

That leaves Jackson in charge, and everybody knows Jackson in charge equates to mischief and ego issues.

He refuses to show the papers to anybody else, scanning leisurely over the list. “Okay, so me and Isaac will take the Bumper cars and the rest of the rides. Erica and Boyd, the game section – please make sure you don’t break the high striker. Scott and Allison, it’s crossbow shooting and the petting zone for you. Derek and Stiles… hmm, let’s see… the Haunted House should be fine for our fearless leaders, right?”

Everybody else is nodding, seemingly happy with their picks, but Stiles scoffs. “Everybody else gets huge sections, and we get only some stupid Haunted House? Well, I’m dining for free tonight.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be quite so sure about that,” Jackson says, smirking like he knows nothing the rest of them don’t.

Derek’s voice is laced with a surprising amount of hatred. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what the fuck you’re doing,” he says.

“What do you mean? I simply think your teamwork needs some upgrading.” Jackson cocks his head. “Okay, so. Remember the testing has to be carefully done, because Lydia will require a thorough report afterwards. We’ll meet here once everybody’s finished; the Ferris wheel is the middle point of the area, so it’s fair to everybody. Tonight’s dinner is on the last pair to arrive.”

They all agree to the terms, and Jackson gives them all directions to their attractions. “Everybody ready? One, two, three – go!” he shouts, and every pair erupts into breathy laughter and sprints. Well, except for Stiles and Derek, because Derek won’t even budge.

Stiles clears his throat. “Unlike you, I don’t actually roll in money, so.”

He dares to take a glance at Derek and startles when he finds him staring at the ground with a stony face, fists balled. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Stiles asks. He can spot a bead of sweat dropping down Derek’s temple. Derek doesn’t even seem to hear him until Stiles steps forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Derek?”

Derek shrugs off the hand like it had burned him. “I’m fine,” he snaps. “Let’s just get this over and done with.” He starts skulking off to the direction of the Haunted House.

So that’s how it is. Irritation spreads through Stiles like wildfire as he catches up to Derek. “You know, it’s not like I wanted to get stuck with you either,” he barks right back at him.

Derek’s jaw twitches. “Great.”

“Yeah, _great_ ,” Stiles agrees, hating everything about the beautiful asshole as they continue their journey in unyielding silence.

 

Stiles had been expecting a lame, obviously teenager-oriented Haunted House, but this time there’s some real investment involved. The gloomy exterior and shrieky soundtrack are enough to make goosebumps creep up his skin as they get inside the building.

“Oh, hi! You must be our chosen guinea pigs,” the girl in the small lobby greets them perkily. “Just give me a sec, I need to give the heads up to the crew.”

She shoots a series of commands into her walkie-talkie. Stiles looks around him in interest. “This place is _awesome_ ,” he muses his respect out loud.

Derek, however, is staring at the ground once more. Stiles’ mouth tightens. “Well, over and done with, right,” he snaps feeling sorry for himself. This could have been amazing experienced with Scott; hell, right now he’d even prefer Jackson’s company over Derek’s.

“You can go in now,” the girl tells them soon. “Have a good time!”

Stiles thanks her and heads straight for the first room. It’s loud there, the paintings on the wall moving, portraits changing shape from humans into monsters. It’s cool as hell, but the next room is as well a seemingly empty one. Stiles knows what they’re trying to do; lull him into a feeling of false security.

The third room looks like it’s bathing in moonlight, and Stiles is fascinated by the very convincing furniture design. It looks like wild animals have teared the place up, blood and claw marks covering every surface, complete with shattered mirrors. But he gets bored quickly enough, walks yet to the next room, and that’s when shit hits the fan.

It’s so dark Stiles can barely see in front of him, and the first zombie attacks him from out of _nowhere_. It looks real as hell too, face half-clawed off and bloody, hanging in strings. Stiles shrieks loudly, but what _really_ gets to him so bad he almost pisses himself is that somebody grabs him by the waist from behind.

“What the _fuck_!” Stiles yells and takes a wild swing, seriously creeped out. A second zombie attacks then, roaring loudly, and a familiar-sounding whimper echoes right next to Stiles’ ear.

“Derek, what the hell,” Stiles bitches, practically foaming at the mouth, he’s so livid. “Let go of me, you sick fuck, I almost had a _heart attack_.”

Derek responds by shaking his head vehemently. Stiles can feel his stubble against his shoulder even through his shirt. He crosses the room awkwardly, Derek still clinging on to his back, and they arrive to a simple long hallway decorated like a hospital corridor.

There’s no zombies present and so Stiles tries to turn around, but the tight grip doesn’t allow him to move an inch. “Stop it, you’re freaking me out,” he complains. Derek’s arms are muscly and sexy, and he just won’t budge. “Are you fucking kidding me,” Stiles mutters. He’s so embarrassed, doesn’t know what’s going on, and he’s _this_ close to punching Derek in the face when he finally makes some noise.

“Stiles,” Derek says, only the majestically straight line of his nose in Stiles’ angle of view. “Don’t. Just – let me.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes. “Are you – you’re actually _scared_.”

Derek’s silence is enough of a confirmation. Stiles’ mind is reeling – never in a million years would he have thought Derek would be scared by zombies. “Okay, hey. You’re kinda choking me, ease up a little,” he says.

Derek relents his hold the tiniest possible amount. Stiles wriggles around so they’re finally facing each other, Derek now grasping onto Stiles’ waist.

He looks absolutely terrified, a frantic look in his eyes and all the blood gone from his face. “Hey, it’s okay,” Stiles offers his solace. “I’m here. They’re just actors, it’s not real.”

But Derek shakes his head. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can,” Stiles insists. “Come on, you’re the Alpha of Beacon Hills. Of course you can. They’re just actors,” he repeats, but that doesn’t seem to matter to Derek at all, so he changes tactics. “The sooner we get going, the sooner it’s over,” he says and shakes Derek’s hold off.

He doesn’t proceed but two steps when the Derek-shaped octopus is once again glued to his back. “Don’t _leave me_ ,” he yells.

“Fine, _fine_ , Jesus.” Stiles thinks quickly. He’s not really inclined to turn back the way they came, and besides… no matter how much he thinks Derek’s fear is weird and he feels sympathy for the guy, he’s kinda enjoying this. Never before has anybody sought comfort and protection from Stiles, and he feels satisfied and possessive to the bone. The fact that it’s Derek Hale, Alpha extraordinaire…? Yeah, talk about a power trip.

“Look, hey, Derek. We’ll do this together and it’ll be over soon, alright?” he says. Derek lets reluctantly go and attaches himself onto Stiles’ arm instead.

Stiles takes a deep breath. “You good?” he asks. Derek looks at him and nods.

They make their way through the house, Derek clinging desperately to Stiles the whole time. His fingers grip so tight they must be leaving bruises. Stiles keeps muttering soothing words, “it’s fine, I’m here, don’t look, it’s okay”; doesn’t even know whether Derek hears him, but he can’t seem to stop himself now that he’s started.

One huge hall is decorated like a circus, and there are clown zombies inside, riding unicycles and juggling fire torches. One of the zombies swooshes his torch in the air right next to them, and Derek _screams_. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever heard the sound before.

He keeps leading the way, but Derek keeps stopping whenever there’s a zombie-free space. “I can’t, I can’t,” he repeats like a religious mantra, and Stiles has to counter it with one of his own. “Yes you can, they’re just actors. Come on, we must be nearly there.”

“You promise?” Derek asks. His eyes are deep pools of despair, and Stiles thinks he would promise him the stars from the sky if he asked for them.

The last room is long and serpentine-like in its sharp twists and turns, with flickering lights and blood-stained plastic curtains. The zombies are attacking them from every single direction, and these ones aren’t scared to seek out skin-to-skin contact; at one point Derek freezes up, legs simply refusing to carry on.

“Together, okay?” Stiles yells. He grabs Derek’s hand and makes them sprint through the room. Derek holds tightly onto his hand, and they’re running, running, escaping. The zombies are screaming and groaning all around them, until there’s finally the sweet green exit light, blinking teasingly at them in distance.

 

They’re still running when they burst through the doors. The entire pack, Lydia included, has obviously been waiting for them to come. “We made it,” Stiles says, out of breath and still holding Derek’s hand. Derek’s answer is to double over and retch on the ground.

They wait until Derek’s finally done, and he looks up, seeks Jackson out from the crowd. “Fuck you,” he says bitterly and stalks off with unsteady steps, leaving a stunned silence after him.

“I didn’t know werewolves could throw up,” Erica offers brilliantly.

“What the hell just happened? It took you so long, we got really worried,” Scott says.

Stiles would like to know as well. “I think you probably know the answer,” he turns to Jackson, voice tight and eyes squinty. Jackson looks guilty but doesn’t say anything.

“Somebody should go after Derek,” Lydia says.

Every single head turns to Stiles. It takes nothing more than Scott’s puppy eyes to make his resolve crumble. “But why _me_ ,” Stiles whines.

“Bro,” Scott pleads. Turncoats, all of them.

“Yeah, yeah, _fine_ ,” Stiles mutters angrily and shakes a finger in Jackson’s face. “Don’t think I won’t be wanting answers, though.”

“Just go save your damsel in distress,” Jackson snipes back. Stiles has half a mind to hit him right in his pretty face, but he decides it’s not even worth it, and there’s a way more pressing matter in hand anyway.

 

He walks through the carnival area, not even stopping to question how he knows where to go. He just _does_. He finds Derek sitting by a fountain, staring at the dance of the streams. The water sparkles prettily from all the colorful lights hung in the air.

He’s clearly moping. Stiles wishes he could say he looks awful, but in truth he looks like a tragic hero from a harlequin novel. He doesn’t seem to notice Stiles at first; he’s still pale, but at least he’s not sweating anymore, so that’s probably a win.

Stiles has always been the one to know how to handle Derek in his worst days. The rest of the pack are too impatient for his sulky moods, but Stiles knows he just needs to be given some space and time. If you pressure him, he’ll just get angry. So Stiles simply settles down next to him and waits.

It doesn’t take but maybe five minutes until Derek clears his throat. “Laura.” It’s probably the most surprising thing he could’ve started with. “Once, when we were children, there was a Halloween carnival in Beacon Hills, much like this one. Same place, even. I was seven, she was thirteen. She took me to the Haunted House and left me there alone on purpose.”

Whatever Stiles was expecting, it for sure wasn’t this.

“I’d just had my first Turn, too, so I wasn’t used to my senses yet. It was…” Derek sighs. “I was there for half an hour, curled in the corner, crying. Finally my dad found me. Laura had gotten tired of her babysitting duty and sneaked off to her friends. My mom went nuts when she found out about it.”

“So it’s a trauma,” Stiles offers tentatively. Derek doesn’t deny it, and that’s so fucking telling, considering this is the guy who keeps insisting he’s fine and cramming up like a turtle whenever somebody even half as much suggests he could use some therapy because of the whole Kate thing.

“But, wait,” Stiles realizes suddenly. “Jackson. He didn’t know, did he? Even _he_ couldn’t be that big of an asshole.”

Derek sighs. “I told him, once. I guess he just doesn’t care. Can’t really blame him.”

Derek starts shivering. Stiles would like nothing better than to reach over and offer him some warmth, but at first he doesn’t dare to, doesn’t think he’d be welcomed. But then the trembling intensifies so Derek’s practically shaking now, so Stiles throws all caution in the wind and scoots closer, wraps an awkward hand around Derek.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles.

“I miss them so much I can’t fucking stand it,” Derek gasps. “It should’ve been me instead of them.”

Stiles is very well-acquainted with feelings of self-loathing, but that is easily the most horrible thing he has ever heard.

“Don’t say that,” he says and buries his face in Derek’s neck. “You hear me, don’t you ever say that again.”

“Why not? It’s true,” Derek continues in that horrible, hollow voice. “Nobody would ever miss me. Everything would be better. I’m no good for anybody.”

“You see, you’re wrong there,” Stiles says furiously. “I would. I’d miss you so fucking bad, you don’t even know.”

And then Derek turns his head and kisses him.

It’s deep and claiming, tasting like salt and feeling a lot like love. It’s pretty much everything Stiles has ever wanted, but also so completely unexpected he can’t find the time to make himself respond before Derek’s already pulling back.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Stiles feels so ashamed – it’s _him_ who should apologize, what the fuck is he doing, trying to take advantage of Derek when he’s weak? – he’s so confused and overcome with emotion. “Wait, wait, stop,” he says, pushes a hand against Derek’s chest.

Derek’s face shuts off completely. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, and this is just, _what_? “I read this wrong,” he says in a distant tone. “If you would excuse me.”

Derek makes as if to rise up, but this time it’s Stiles who clings on to him. “Wait, I don’t have the slightest clue what’s going on anymore,” he says.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Derek hangs his head down low. “I know you don’t – you just don’t.”

“I don’t what?”

A silence.

“ _Derek_.”

“I know you don’t want be stuck with me,” Derek says. “But I should thank you. In the house – you were – it doesn’t matter. I know you were only being nice, but still, thank you.”

“Are you crazy?” Stiles says. Derek flinches. He presses on. “I’m not – of course I wasn’t just being nice, what the hell. You haven’t been, you couldn’t even meet my eyes the morning after Erica’s party, what do you think… wait, so you’re _not_ angry with me?”

“You’re the one who’s been angry,” Derek says like it ought to make any goddamn sense.

“What, how? Shut up, that’s just stupid.”

“But you,” Derek swallows. “You said it was just a, a relapse of judgment,” Derek stutters. _Stutters_.

“Because I thought that’s what _you_ thought,” Stiles cries. “Are you crazy? I’ve been half in love with you for years.”

Derek freezes at that. “No you haven’t,” he denies, shaking his head angrily. “I get it, it’s stupid and hopeless. You only needed to say no, you don’t have to mock me.”

“You’re insane, you know that, right,” Stiles says. He feels heady and warm, like sugar and spice, and a little bit dangerous. “Come back to me.”

This time it takes coercion for Derek to return the kiss, but when he does, it’s sparks and wet tongues and happiness. Derek’s hands end up cupping Stiles’ neck, which is good, because Stiles feels like he would flow away if it wasn’t for the secure hold.

The kiss flickers down, or maybe fires up, who knows who _cares_ , to careful nips of teeth and wandering, intent hands. Derek pulls away a couple of inches and Stiles misses him immediately. “Half in love, you said,” he says, voice husky. “I wonder what it takes to make it full-on love.”

And then Derek sinks down to his knees.

“I,” Stiles says, gasping for breath. “You don’t have to do anything, you know,” he says, not even knowing why the hell he’s trying to refuse a blowjob from the love of his life.

Derek answers by opening his belt. “Let me say thank you,” he says and proceeds to write the letters on Stiles’ dick with his tongue. Life is _good._

 

Once they’ve both gotten off and Derek has told him he loves him too – yeah, that’s a thing that Stiles can now write off his bucket list – they return to the pack who are keeping residence under the Ferris wheel. The fuckers start cat-calling and clapping when they arrive, and Stiles would be so embarrassed if it wasn’t for Derek’s warm, sure hand locked down low on his back.

“I think it’s safe to say team Derek lost the bet,” Scott says brightly. “Can we go already, I’m starving.”

“Thank god at least one of us is rich,” Stiles says to Derek with a grimace. He’s already mourning the weight loss his wallet will suffer.

“Which reminds me,” Lydia says, suddenly stretching out her hand. “Everybody better pay up, I’m ready to collect.”

Everybody except for Stiles and Derek grab their wallets. Money is changing hands, mostly flooding over to Lydia, and Stiles gets it at once. “Please, _please_ don’t tell me you had a bet going on about me and Derek.”

“Sorry, boss,” Jackson shrugs his shoulders, sounding almost apologetic.

Stiles would like to erupt into a rant about asshole moves and mastermind planning, but somehow he doesn’t find it in him to bother doing so. The reason might be that Derek nuzzles his neck affectionately. “It’s okay,” Derek says, “we’re gonna have sex in all your beds.”

It evokes collective groaning and claims for needing bleach and earplugs, but Stiles just laughs and laughs _._ Derek joins him, and Stiles thinks he would give up all his earthly belongings just to hear that sound every day for the rest of his life.


End file.
